


The Stark Line that Rang True

by Y17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Family, Idk what I was thinking of, Superpowers, What-If, just an idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-05 12:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17918570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Y17/pseuds/Y17
Summary: Basically, the Stark kids with superpowers, and how their parents found out.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

**Robb**

* * *

 

He fell from one of the gates; that’s what bloody happened. He was three and not a scratch was found on his person.

Robb thought it was actually pretty great. And the fact that Jon was looking at him like he grew a second head seemed pretty funny. What wasn’t funny was the shouting match that was happening in front of them. His brother gripped his hand in support as the maester suggested once more to put Robb’s body to the test. Mother was screaming bloody murder at the mere suggestion, and Father just…stopped working?

It wasn’t until old Nan cackled that had Father finally getting back to himself.

“What is it, old Nan?” Father spoke, to which the woman slowly shook her head.

“A true Stark, that boy is. Blessed by the old gods; blessed with Brandon the Builder’s own gifts!” She cackled once more.

Robb couldn’t understand what expression his father wore, but Mother seemed pleased. Although, he didn’t like how she smirked at Jon by his side. The maester just snorted.

But years later, when it had become painfully obvious that no wound would remain on Robb’s body for longer than a moment, one could see the maester lingering at the godswood with a notebook at hand.

* * *

 

**Sansa**

* * *

 

Blessed by the gods, his children were—if old Nan was to be believed. Four children out and about, and Ned was half convinced. He could still remember the fright when his youngest daughter had shown her…gifts. Theon, his ward, had almost thrown her out by mistake!

Thank the old gods only Robb and Arya had shown such _blessings._ Bran, only ten moons old, had yet to show any signs. And Sansa, bless her daughter’s soul, was ever his perfect lady daughter. The first child made out of love and passion for his lady wife. Sansa was untainted by the old gods—or at least, that was what he thought.

“I beg your pardon, mi’lord! The lady was urgent in her call for you!”

He followed briskly. He didn’t expect to find tears in his lady wife’s wide eyes, and his daughter’s wee hands cupping Catelyn’s cheeks. Cat was staring at the wall, but his daughter noticed his presence. She looked at him, and he was surprised to see the intelligence in the eyes of a girl of five name days.

“Do you wish to see mama’s home too, papa?” she asks in a soft small voice, only a child could have. Her hand was outstretched.

Cat made no move of hearing anything, and so, with great hesitation, Ned held her hand.

He gasped.

Gone was the grey walls of Winterfell, the warmth of the castle. Instead, he was in a garden. He had been here—long before, when war was sung in every corner of Westeros. He saw redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams. He _heard_ birds singing from hidden nests. And the air was spicy with the scent of flowers. By a tree, he saw a boy, a little older than his own son, Robb.

“Look, papa, that is mama’s Robb. I see him in mama when he looks at _my_ Robb.”

It is only then that Cat had finally noticed Ned. Her eyes were still wide, but she breathed out, and smiled. To Ned’s surprise, she looked happy.

“No, sweetling,” she said shakily, but not upset. “That is Edmure, your uncle. That is mine brother.”

Sansa gave a gleeful squeak and clapped, taking her hands off her parents and the vision of Riverrun’s godswood with them. The warmth of Winterfell seeped into his bones once again.

She turned to him, obviously proud of what she had done, and said, “I can show you the tower too, papa!”

He froze.

Cat looked at him quizzically, but Sansa just ventured on. “I can show you the tower and the promise, and the lady! Just like the ones I see when you see Jon!”

Cat’s eyes hardened, and just as she was about to prod their daughter, “San—”

“ **Enough**.”

Guilt ate at him; he did not mean to shout as he did. Gone was the glee in his daughter’s eyes. There was only fear. He kneeled and scooped his daughter up, and had her stand straight. He must have done it a bit too rough, for there were tears in his little angel’s eyes.

But _his_ fears were greater than any guilt.

“There is _no_ tower, Sansa.” He demanded.

“But—”

“Proper ladies do not show such things—do not show _anything_ to _anyone_. _Do you understand?_ ”

The tears on her cheeks were flowing freely now. And she nodded her head, in attempt to hide them.

“M-may I leave, now, p-Father?”

He nodded, and she wasted no time running away. When he looked back at his lady wife, he felt crushed. If the rage in her eyes could kill, he would be with the old gods now. He slept in his own chambers that night, and for moons to follow.

The old gods had not blessed his children. They had cursed him.

* * *

 

**Arya**

* * *

 

Sansa always knew that her big brother was special; Rob would do anything to protect her (as an afterthought, so would her half-brother Jon, she guessed). So when Arya arrived, she had promised to herself to be the best lady sister one could ever ask…except, Arya was _awful_.

See, Sansa could feel everyone’s thoughts, and she could show people things too. In fact, for the longest time, she thought everyone could do so too. And gods, little Arya’s thoughts were so _loud_. The first moons since she came, all she could feel from her sister was darkness, and a floaty feeling…kind of like swimming in sticky water. If she stood near enough her baby sister, she could almost feel it as if she were there… _ugh, how icky_. But then, Sansa felt the very first time Arya could see colors, and every day since then she couldn’t bear being near the babe. Arya’s thoughts were always so imposing, and the way she thought of each color in a vibrancy so sharp—she was unbearable.

So, of course, she was very much offended when their guard had refused to believe her that Arya was missing. Sansa, of all people, would notice Arya’s absence—she relished in it.

“Lady Sansa, might be your sister is just sleeping. Best not to disturb the nursery, don’t you think?” their guard said. But Sansa would not have it.

“I _know_ it!” She replied petulantly, she turned to her brother, who had been so kind to walk around with her on his play time. “You believe me, right, Robb?”

She noticed his brother puff and stand up straighter. And she could feel the thoughts of indulgent in his mind. “It would not hurt to check, Ser Lorgan. Just to be sure.” Her brother reasoned, in what she could feel was his lord-voice…as much as a boy of seven name days could feel lordly.

The guard let out a sigh, and nodded. He bid them to stay where they are as he checked, but once he was gone, Sansa pulled her brother into a sprint.

“Sansaa! Ser Lorgan said to wait!”

She huffed, “I can find her faster, brother. I already know she isn’t anywhere in this wing!”

This time, Robb did look at her unbelievingly. “What? How?”

Sansa just gave him the most exasperated sigh, “I can’t hear her, brother. Duh!”

Robb didn’t know how that was ever an explanation, but off they went. Wing by wing, they searched, and as hours went by, it was obvious that the household were informed of the missing child. Robb wondered if they were helping at all, since all they seemed to be doing was running around. Sansa barely stayed put in a wing, and never enters to check chambers. How were they ever going to find a two name day old babe like that?

The answer came in the form of the kitchen. Weirdly enough, Theon was there with a scowl in his face, while he held something in his hands.

“Theon!” Robb exclaimed. The older boy had only been with them for a few moons. Sansa tolerated him enough; she didn’t like being near him either. His thoughts of loneliness and bitterness made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like feeling his thoughts. “Have you seen Arya?”

Oh yes. Arya was definitely here. How a babe of two name days had reached the kitchens from the nursery wing was beyond her, but Sansa has acutely sensed the panicked mind of her sister.

“No,” Theon says. “I’ve been minding my own business here eating, when this bloody kit pawed at my meal.”

He raised what he was holding. Lo and behold, it _was_ a little kitten. It was brown, and scrawny. And gods, she could feel Arya’s fear. Where is her sister??

“I was just about to throw it out, when the bloody castle gates went shut. How did this stupid kit even get in?” Theon said shaking the kit up and down, and Sansa felt her sister, wherever she was, getting more scared. She felt Arya’s panic spike, as Theon jostled the kit…wait a minute.

She squinted at Theon’s kit, and saw wide grey eyes looking at her Tully blue, and Sansa gasped.

“Give me the kitten!”

Theon snorted, “No way, I’m throwing it out. See how it finds food in the snow.”

The kitten kept mewling, and Sansa’s mind was invaded by familiar thoughts. Thoughts that were definitely not hers, Robb’s nor Theon’s. Anger seeped into her little bones, “ _No_ , _give her to me!_ ”

Theon froze, and it seemed as if someone was forcing him to move. He snapped out of it when Robb intervened. “C’mon, Theon. Just give my sister the cat. We still have to find, Arya.”

The Greyjoy grumbled, but relented. The moment Theon handed the kitten over, she sprinted away once again. Behind her, she could hear her brother mutter, “By the gods, slow down, Sansa!”

No, Sansa would not. As hard as she can, she tried to find her Lord Father and Lady mother—it was easy. She only had to go where the worrying was most intense.

“Father! Mother! I found Arya,” she exclaimed. Her parents looked sharply at her, and Robb had finally caught up. She raised the kit to them, proud of her accomplishment.

Mother let out an annoyed huff, “Honestly, Sansa, we have no time for this. And it’s not proper to name some scrawny kit with your sister’s name!”

Sansa’s eyes furrowed. “B-but, you don’t understand! This _is_ Arya! I heard her!”

She felt her brother’s hand on her shoulder, as if to tell her she had done enough. But she wasn’t done. She glared at the kit, and she urged her sister’s senses. _Come on, sister, it is Father and Mother, why are you a kit?_

As if hearing her thoughts, the kit morphed into one Arya Stark, and Sansa almost dropped her! Gods, were baby ladies allowed to be this heavy? Thankfully, Robb had helped.

Mother yelped, and father gaped, but Arya was finally giggling and gurgling—still unable to form coherent words, except, ‘Pa! Ma!’

Mother gingerly picked her up, and Sansa could feel she had trouble believing what she had seen. But as Arya held onto their mother’s hair, so did her own dark hair changed into a fiery red. Her sister’s Stark grey eyes morphed into a Tully blue, and Mother seemed faint.

Sansa huffed proudly at Father and Robb’s gaping mouths. If only it was lady-like to say _I told you so_.

* * *

 

**Bran**

* * *

 

Catelyn loved all his children dearly. From her handsome Robb, so much like his Uncle Edmure, Sansa, her pride and joy, and Arya, the first child she bore with such Stark coloring. She loved them all. But she could not deny that her youngest held a sweet spot in her heart that no one else could claim.

Bran was four name days old, and he seemed to be climbing every wall he could be found. Catelyn feared that soon, he would venture on to the different towers of Winterfell.

And her boy was smart. He even baffled the maester sometimes. Mother, he would say, did you know that Walton Stark loved climbing too? Mother, mother! Did you know that the dresser in your chambers was made from the same oak as that of Aunt Lyanna’s?

How in all the old gods and new he knew of what he did, no one knew. She didn’t even realized he knew of his Aunt Lyanna already. Ned rarely, if ever, mentions his sister. Bran was clever too. Try as she might, Catelyn will never understand how impossible it is to surprise Brandon—or any of his siblings for the matter. For ever since he could talk, he would always know of their parents’ surprises for each of their name days.

She was on her way to find him; it was dark, and he should be in chambers soon. But she should’ve known better. When Bran wasn’t off climbing, he was with Old Nan, listening to her stories. Catelyn was just near enough to hear them talk.

“But, Nan, why is it any special?”

She heard old Nan tsk. “Listen carefully, little lord. Your brother has your namesake’s gifts. Dear Sansa is touched by Flints’ blood. And our young Arya is graced by the Children of the Forests’, but you, Brandon. Yours is a blessing far older than any of theirs.”

“But, why, Nan?”

“Thousands of silent years. It is your father’s line that ran true of Stark magic. I always knew quiet Ned was a special one,” she cackles.

It is at this point that Catelyn decides she has heard enough. Her son was still at an age where he greeted her with hugs, and she relished on it. She dared not think of what ‘ _gifts_ ’ this foreign gods have cursed upon her sweet Bran.

Their walk to his chambers were silent, and her son was obviously deep in thought. As she tucked him in, he said, “Mother, may I ask you something?”

She smiled sweetly and nodded. “And would you…would you believe me?”

She gave him an amused smile. Her oldest son cannot be wounded, her oldest daughter could bring images to life, and her youngest one…well, she could be _anyone—anything_ she wished to be. None of her septas could have ever prepared her for her Northron children. So she smiled and nodded at his son.

“Promise you won’t be mad?” Brandon whispered.

“Oh, sweet babe, tell me, what ails you?”

He hides half of his face with his covers. “I…well…I see things that happened before. As long as I touched them. And well, you see, I saw wolves and mountains when I touched father. And I saw a fish, and a lot of bats when I touched you.”

Catelyn laughed. So his son was similar to Sansa? “Might be a trout was what you saw, sweetling.”

Bran wore a small smile at that and nodded. “And well, the others. They’re all wolves and fi—trouts…but…”

She frowned. “What is it?”

“I’m afraid, mother.” He says in a small voice.

She scoops her into an embrace, and wraps him at her side. “Tell it to me true, Brandon.”

“It’s Jon. Mother. I touched him, and there was no trout in him. Only dragon.”

* * *

**Rickon**

* * *

 

Rickon loved Sansa the best…well, next to his mother. And it was fair. Robb barely paid attention to him. And Jon, well, mother said he doesn’t count. That there was no trout in him like there was in Rickon. But father said that they were all wolves. It doesn’t matter though. Jon favored Arya, and Arya favored him in return. Bran was Robb’s favorite, and mother’s.

But Rickon loved Sansa best. It was only Sansa and her pretty worlds who calmed him down whenever mother wasn’t around. She showed her everything he wanted to see. She took him away to worlds where he needn’t be careful of his emotions. Her worlds were pretend. He could be angry and sad, and happy and no trees nor clouds would follow his command in pretend worlds.

Even with just nine name days, he knew that he had the most troublesome gift among his siblings. But he’s better at it when Sansa is there to calm him. No one has ever been so attuned to him as she was—not even mother.

That is why, in the middle of the worst snow storm that the North has seen in generations, Rickon Stark was having a screaming match with his father.

"SANSA CAN’T GO. SHE CAN’T. SHE CAN’T. SHE CAN’T.”

Father was rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Rickon, we’ve been over this. Sansa is in a ripe age to be married. She can’t stay in Winterfell forever.”

“I CAN’T EITHER! Why can’t you just let me be fostered father! You have your heir! And a spare! And I—” he faltered. “I am neither. I could foster, and grow up to be her sworn shield father, _please_.”

There’s a new sad glint in his father eyes. Years later, he will hear him talk of how he reminds his father of how Uncle Benjen and Aunt Lyanna was. For now, father just shakes his head.

“Bran has only just gotten my permission to head North of the Wall. Neither I nor your mother would allow you to leave so soon, son. And maybe, in a few years, you may swear your oaths to your sister, but Rickon, you have yet a lot to live. You’re still a boy, son.”

Rickon stomps away, knowing there is no use speaking to his father. Nor was there any hope with his mother. As usual, he relies on himself.

It took a moon and a half before they realized that Sansa would never be able to leave with the storm surrounding Winterfell as it did. And that they would never be able to get the snowstorm to stop unless Rickon wished it. And so it was that he followed his sister to her new husband’s keep. And by her side he stayed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

**Jon**

* * *

 

He would admit, with much shame, that he had always envied Robb: perfect Robb, a true-born Stark, blessed by the gods, he who held Brandon the Builder’s blood in his veins. Robb was good at everything without trying, and he never shrunk from his duties. It wasn’t enough that he was good, he worked hard to always be better.

Was it the best part or was it the worst part that Robb was so easy to love too? Perfect son, perfect heir, and perfect brother. He was Jon’s first and staunchest defender, friend—a brother in all sense. For all the envy in his heart, Jon knew he would never falter in his loyalty to him.

It just…hurts.

Robb was blessed by the old gods the way they did with Starks of the old. And his gift suited him: great healing. He even recently learnt that he could heal others as well—of course kind and noble Robb would be able to.

But…was he not a Stark as well?

They were but three when Robb’s gift showed. They learnt of Bran’s when he was around the same age. No one knows when exactly Sansa’s started to show or understands what the bloody hell can she do exactly. But Arya’s shown it when she was but a babe, and Rickon at seven moons old (it rained inside his nursery— _only_ in _his nursery_ ). But Jon showed later than any of them at 10 name days old.

Mayhaps he was just a late bloomer. It did not matter to him, though, because he did not _burn_. He was in his chambers, and he did not know what possessed him. All he knew was that he was deep in thought, and when he had found the answers he searched for, he snapped his fingers.

And then he was on fire.

Every inch of him was covered in it, and he screamed until he realized he did not hurt. He calmed at the realization, and he was on fire no more. It took him a while. For a moment, he could not comprehend what the bloody hell happened to him. He snapped his fingers again to make sure. This time, only his hands were covered in flames, and he yelped in excitement. The fire even turned blue! It was pretty, and he had never seen blue flames before.

Later, he will come to learn that he could change how hot his fire could become.

He damned all propriety and ran across the halls of Winterfell to his Lord Father’s solar. He was gifted! He could finally show everyone that _no,_ _his bastard blood was not cursed_ ; the same gods-blessed blood of old Starks runs through _his_! Mayhaps his Lord Father would even give him the Stark name! Finally, the shame he had carried in his blood was gone.

“Father! Father! I’ve to show you something!”

He could see that Lord Stark was about to admonish him for just barging in, but he was alone with his papers in his solar. And, well, Jon had rarely called him _father_ so loudly and freely that he could not help be curious.

“What is it, Jon?”

Jon was pleased when his Lord Father met his eyes. And he could not hold it in any longer. He burst out, “I cannot burn, Father!” He exclaimed.

The goblet on his father's desk fell with a loud clatter, and before Jon could process it, his father was a blur. He shut the door with such force that little Jon felt like the room shook. The high he felt was crashing down. His father’s eyes who seemed patronizing before were burning him just as he thought that he could not burn.

“Why do you make such claims, Jon?” his father demanded. Lord Stark’s face was pale.

He tried not to hesitate, even as all his strength left him. His hands were shaking when he snapped them, and what was a roaring fire before was now as small as a candle.

His father forbade him to ever show or tell anyone of his gifts.

 _You’re so stupid, Jon_ , he told himself. Why would Lord Stark ever want him to be gifted, let alone the Stark name? He would only ever add insult and dishonor to his family, claiming the same gifts as his true-born siblings. He would add insult to injury at the Tully name. He _can never_ be a Stark.

And what would Lady Stark say even? Mayhaps she’d send him far away, for none of his siblings’ where ever gifted with something so destructive. He had burnt his cot, and Lord Stark had any evidence of his gifts disappear. If anything, Lady Stark might claim he was cursed by the old gods. He might not get to play with his siblings for her fears of burning them.

He wished he didn’t have a gift. For if he didn’t, he needn’t see the anger in his father’s face. He wouldn’t know how much Lord Stark wished he wasn’t his son.

 

* * *

A year later, he found out that he wasn’t even _his_ son at all. It was a mess.

Lord Stark was making rounds to the different keeps of the north when it happened. Lady Stark had told Jon then, and—well, he doesn’t know why it was easier to comprehend that he was not his father’s son than the fact that Lady Stark seemed ashamed of herself when she told him. She apologized! The old gods must have been laughing.

And then her weeping began. She had locked herself in her chambers. Jon was in no state to explain to Robb, so Robb had taken to trying to comfort his mother. Bran was also inconsolable, feeling as though it was _his_ fault for his mother’s woes. And Jon…he was just…sick.

He heard of House Targaryen. He knows their words just as well as their madness. Or was it his madness now too? Maybe Lady Stark had the right of it, he _was_ a curse. He must’ve killed his mother. What kind of monster does not burn?

“You’re not a dragon. Father said we’re wolves, remember? He always says that.”

He jumped from his cot. “Arya! How did you get in?”

She waved her little hand, and settled by his side. “I was a fly, and then I went in, and then I was Arya. Duh.”

“So,” he said nervously, “You know?”

His little sister huffed. “I got it out of Bran—it was the only thing he said in between his crying! And it’s stupid. You’re a wolf. Father said so.”

“Father lied.” He spat bitterly.

“No he didn’t,” a softer voice said. This time both he and Arya jumped.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Arya demanded at the new comer. And then she squinted, “How did you get in?”

Sansa sniffed daintily, “The door wasn’t locked, stupid. Let me guess, you used your gifts before your head.”

Arya’s skin was turning red, “I’m not stupid!”

“Sansa,” Jon said. He was not in the right place of mind to be in the presence of his sisters’ squabbles. His redhead sibling turned to her sharply, as if she was chastised undeserving. Jon never really knew what to make of Sansa’s stares. Sansa always stayed away from him in what he thinks as an imitation of Lady Stark. He didn’t understand her presence now.

“Father never lies,” she insisted. “I hear him all the time, even when he wishes I don’t. He used to call you his blood, but then he started calling you his son. So you are our brother.”

Arya scoffed. “ _Of course_ , you call him brother now that you know he’s a son of a handsome prince.”

Jon winced. And Sansa turned to glare at her sister. “ _Shut up!_ You don’t know anything!”

“No, _you_ don’t know anything! Jon’s been my brother for forever, and now you’re probably just here because mother told you to apologize! I know that otherwise, you hate Jon as much as you hate me!”

“ _And why wouldn’t I?!_ Do you know how hard it is to be around you and Jon? Let alone you two together! Being _near_ you feels like a thousand people shouting in my head—you’re so loud and pressing and, and, **free**! And father still loves you for it! Father _hates_ being near me,” Sansa almost sobs.

But she continued, and this time turns to him, “And _you_. Robb calls it brooding—I call it having the whole castle on my back! Everything is heavy with you! I feel more heavy near you than all the small folk asking for father’s aid combined. And they will _never_ have as much as you do! But still, father loves you even more than me!”

When she finished, all their eyes were moist. Sansa’s breathing was heavy.

“ _What are you even doing here, Sansa_?” Arya asks in a small shaky voice, uncharacteristic of her.

Sansa sniffles. “I just wanted to ask Jon if he wanted to see his mother.”

Jon freezes. Every drop of blood in his body was ice. He choked, “M-my mother?”

Sansa nodded, “I see her when father looks at you. Father tries his best not to when I’m around, but I see it all the same. He forbade me from showing anyone, but he does not trust me. The more I avoid you, the more he loves me.” Finally, there was a tear among their faces: Sansa’s.

But like the perfect lady she is, she does not give them time to ponder on her tears. She offers her hand out for Jon.

Arya pipes up, “C-can I see with Jon too?”

Both girls look at him. Jon could count on one hand the number of times Sansa had allowed either of the two of them to see her gifts. Jon felt that if he didn’t take his sister hand now, he would never be able to see his mother again. But he’s afraid. What kind of monster kills his mother?

“Please, Jon?” Arya asks again. It’s Arya’s presence that gives him courage. A man can only be brave when he is afraid. So together, they each took a hand.

And then it was hot. And there was sand. And there was her.

 

And _she_ loved _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, the kudos and the support guys! I didn't think anybody would like it so much; it was just something in my head. Here is Jon's since most of the comments asked for him.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this was going tbh HAHAHA  
> Here are the list of superpowers:  
> Robb - Healing Powers  
> Sansa - Mind Manipulation (Empathy-like and Illusion Manipulation)  
> Arya - Shapeshifter  
> Bran - Retrocognition and Precognition  
> Rickon - Ecokinesis / Nature Manipulation


End file.
